


We Treat Each Other Kindly

by onepieceofharry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Depression, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, ish....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepieceofharry/pseuds/onepieceofharry
Summary: Marge bit her lip, gently unfolding a scroll and staring down at the pages. "Edward Remus Lupin, aged five months, was surrendered to ministry services by Andromeda Black due to inability to provide care on September third. One week later Edward Lupin was claimed by distant family member-" she paused, raising her head to meet Harry's eyes, "Draco Malfoy."Or: Harry loses track of his godson.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

It hadn't felt like six years.

In the beginning, after the war, Harry had felt both a steadying feeling of peace as well as a calm drive to help the people who'd been affected by all that had happened. Weeks went by with Harry at hospital bedsides, letting people he'd never met but who had fought know they were going to be okay. That it was over. That there was hope again. He cried when they cried, but when he left at the end of the day he was at peace, because he'd helped someone find their own. 

He went to the ministry and testified for and against both death eaters and ministry officials. The international wizarding community had stepped in to help with ascertaining who was aiding Voldemort's regime and who was hindering it from the inside. Eventually Kingsley Shacklebot was declared minister and order was finally established, with regular ministry employees getting back to work.

There were funerals, memorials, tributes, awards, charities, and all sorts of functions post-war. Every day Harry would wake up and already have a million things to accomplish. He had to be there for the Weasleys when they finally buried Fred, not letting himself think about the affair beyond what he needed to do to get Ron back on his feet. He had to be there when Hermione took the obliviate off of her parents, which had not gone over very well. He'd had to be there at Lupin and Tonks' funeral, buried together just like his parents had been, Teddy wailing out in Andromeda's arms even though there was no way he could understand the impact of the ceremony.

Harry had been there for all of it. All the harsh grief coming off the Weasleys in waves, the guilt that had Hermione living with the Weasley's before the end of the summer, the pain of those brave strangers bundled away in St. Mungo's with curses so dark there was no one who could help them. He'd been there through all of it, ready for it. The relief of finally having a future outside of Voldemort had been so blinding that it carried him through every kind of pain.

Then a year after the war the world started to turn again. People went to work. Hogwarts was reopening. The prophet reported on the economy or the local government elections in a remote wizarding community. It wasn't as if the war had just disappeared, of course not, but it was no longer the biggest issue in people's lives. They had grieved. People who needed to be in Azkaban were all there. The ministry was up and running and had been for a while. People were ready to move on.

So, Harry took a day off. Locked himself in Grimmauld place and wasted a day taking a bath and ordering takeout. It was wonderful: exactly what he needed. It was a new kind of relief, a different kind from what he'd been feeling. He took another day off. And another. Until it was a week. Until it was two. Until it was too late to realize something wasn't right.

It was like Harry had been holding up the sky his entire life, straining under it but never letting go because it would hurt the one's he loves. Then someone had gently informed him it was alright, they would be fine, he can let go now. So he had, and that had been the relief, but then the sky had fallen down and clung to him like a film. Heavy and hot, it restricted him but also made him want to curl up with it, like a heavy blanket in midwinter.

Harry had never felt that before. Had never felt the exhaustion in his limbs that he couldn't shake out. Never felt the fog in his head begging him to go back to bed. He hadn't felt bad, he'd just felt tired.

It took about a month of this lethargy for the rest of his symptoms to follow, though he hadn't known that was what it was at the time.

A month off, after all he'd been through, wasn't a long amount of time. His friends had thought so, giving him his space and only popping in once or twice. But after the first month, well, Harry started to run out of justifications. He had to move. Finish school. Start his auror career. He had a life all his own now. He had to start living it.

Those thoughts persisted through his head for another three months. And then when he tried, genuinely tried to pick himself off, he couldn't. He couldn't make the limbs move. He was trapped.

He'd been trapped for a while.

Days bled into each other. Months. Years. Harry cried, but couldn't quite feel what about. He just felt hallow. And so tired.

Ron and Hermione had tried to pull him out of it - of course they had - but he'd turned to stone, just letting the years wear him away because there was nothing else he could do. He was stone, he couldn't move, he couldn't feel. He just was.

Eventually, oh Merlin, _eventually_ he got professional help. Ginny had kept her distance after their relationship fell apart, but the day she finally chose to see him was the same day she'd marched right back out and found him a mind healer.

Thank fuck.

So. It had been six years since the war, three and half of which he'd spent locked in depression and another year and half after that fighting back. He'd done it, though _done_ was the wrong term. Harry took a potion every day, he exercised, he made time with friends, and he slept properly. It was manageable. He'd joined the aurors, after disclosing his mental health issues. Turned out they didn't care at all, as it wasn't like it was a new thing to them.

He had a purpose. He had a life. And he had yards upon yards of messes to clean up from when he'd let all his responsibilities go.

That was why he was here, standing on Andromeda's stoop for the first time in six years, flushed pink and hoping to see his godson for the first time since his parents' funeral.

Just a glance at the woman who opened the door made dread pool in his stomach. She was greasy and disheveled, in her nightgown even though it was the afternoon, and her eyes were clouded over with a familiar and terrifying fog.

"I, um-" Harry stuttered, "I'm very sorry for dropping in so suddenly, but I felt I had to explain myself in person."

Apprehension grew in Andromeda's eyes, and she clutched the door a bit tighter.

"Right," Harry breathed, "I'm here to see Teddy. And I'm sorry for how long overdue this visit is."

Anger flared brightly in Andromeda's eyes, the most emotion he'd seen of her yet, until it stuttered and died with a quiet sadness.

"You haven't been reading your letters have you, Harry." Andromeda croaked.

Harry laughed uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. His mail was also one of those many messes he hadn’t quite gotten to yet, creating a pile so vast it had taken over the dining room in Grimmauld Place. "I haven't been all the way of sorts after the war. I'm very sorry if you've written and I missed it."

Andromeda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses. Her eyes were red. "I'm sorry Harry, but I don't have Teddy." 

***

Harry had felt shame before, or at least he thought he had. He'd made mistakes. He'd gotten people hurt. But therapy had made him realize how... normal his mistakes were, and had also made him realize he'd felt shame for things that were never his fault to begin with.

This was shame on another level. This was shame in it's true form, and it was all Harry could do not to bury his head in the dirt and scream.

"He was adopted out." Andromeda whispered, clutching her cup of tea to her chest. "But I trust Melinda. I know he's with a family that cares for him."

Harry was panting, tearing at the fabric of his trousers in an attempt to spare the upholstery he'd been seated at in Andromeda's tea room. It was cluttered (and dirty), but the chaise was still fine quality. He couldn't damage it.

He wanted to damage it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice strained.

Andromeda narrowed her eyes. "I did. I sent you all the information. Years ago."

There was nothing Harry could say to that, so he said nothing. His trousers were ruined.

Andromeda sighed. "He's with family, if that's any comfort. Some distant cousin took him in, at least that's what Melinda said."

Melinda, as Harry had learned, was Andromeda's longtime friend who worked in the Children's Interest division at the ministry. The majority of the division was just tracking underage magic, something Harry bitterly found out himself after certain revelations about his own childhood, but there was a branch that helped relocate children and worked with private orphanages.

Thoughts of orphanages evoked wispy images of angry little boys who steal things that don't belong to them, and Harry quickly skittered away from the thought. At least Teddy wasn't in one of those places. 

Harry shook himself. "Can you give me their name?"

A strange look came over Andromeda, and she cast her eyes around the clutter. 

"You don't know their names, do you?"

“It has to be on Lupin’s side.” Andromeda exhaled slowly, her breath shaking. "I gave you the information, Harry."

Quiet fell between them, their mutual failure taking up all the air. Six years. For almost six years Lupin's son had been raised by absolute strangers while the people who were trusted to care for him wallowed in grief and pain and illness and who knew what else. Regardless of all that, regardless of what his healer would say, the responsibility towards children always came first.

Harry should have checked up on him. Merlin. Merlin. No matter how hard it was just to keep on living, he should have visited him. Or just even given him a fucking thought beyond how Teddy was just another person he was letting down.

The sound of scribbling broke the silence and Harry watched as Andromeda scrawled something on the back of an unopened letter.

"This is Melinda's office address," she said, shakily getting to her feet. "She can get you a name."

Harry rose to meet her and accepted the envelope, only to be startled at the wetness on Andromeda's cheeks. She'd cried throughout the entire visit without Harry hearing a sound. Harry remembered what that felt like.

***

"Oh bloody fu-! Hello! Mr. Potter!" The older woman exclaimed, hastily re-arranging her desk at his entrance. "Do come in. My name is Melinda Marge and I am at your disposal."

Harry smiled painfully at the woman, taking her hand in a shake and sitting himself opposite the tiny, cluttered desk she sat behind. It seemed like too much work for such a small desk, let alone one woman.

"I talked to you over floo, Mrs. Marge? About Teddy Lupin?"

Marge laughed, fluttering her hands about nervously. "Oh yes, Mr. Potter. I've, uh, pulled his file for you." She straightened out some parchment, running her hand down the creases and refusing to meet his gaze.

"And?" Harry pressed, a stress headache forming.

Marge swallowed, and seemed to press her hands together in prayer. "So, what you need to understand is that there were many orphans after the war. A true tragedy, but the ministry was swamped with weeding out death eaters and the like from their ranks. We didn't have the resources to care for all those children, and the orphanages were equally as strained. So, uh, any family that were eligible to claim the children were contacted." Marge's voice suddenly lowered. "I hope to impress upon you how difficult that period of time was."

"You don't need to tell me, I was there." Harry said mildly.

Marge giggled embarrassedly. "Ah, yes, well, um, so you see-"

"Just-" Harry sighed, the tension in his stomach refusing to settle,"Where is he?"

Marge bit her lip, gently unfolding a scroll and staring down at the pages. "Edward Remus Lupin, aged five months, was surrendered to ministry services by Andromeda Black due to inability to provide care on September third. One week later Edward Lupin was claimed by distant family member-" she paused, raising her head to meet Harry's eyes, "Draco Malfoy."

She stared at him, gauging his reaction. He had none to give.

"I'm sorry? I believe I misheard." Because he had. Regardless of the ministry’s incompetence and Malfoy’s acquittal there was no way that would have gone through. His reputation alone is enough to get himself bullied out of Diagon Alley, let alone adopt a child.

Marge grimaced. "You didn't."

"Draco Malfoy?" He asked Marge. Again, absurdly, she nodded. "The Draco Malfoy who was a death eater? Who lived with Voldemort for months?” Harry said wryly, “That Malfoy?”

Marge bit her lip. "He's really not so bad."

"You're not serious."

"He really isn't." Marge tried to insist, despite the apologetic expression.

Harry was suddenly on his feet, horror clogging his throat and pushing him into an aggressive pacing in the tiny office. It was easier to picture Teddy being cared for by a stranger than Malfoy. A stranger could be anyone. A stranger could be a big family with lots of brothers and stable income. A stranger could mean love and bedtime stories and vegetables and play. Draco Malfoy meant bullying and shame and prejudice.

"How," Harry choked, "I'm his godfather. You know this."

Marge squirmed. "We hadn't known it at the time. There was no paperwork-"

"Of fucking course there wasn't any paperwork! His parents died in the damn war that took over the ministry."

Marge had nothing to say to that.

"His parents died war heroes…and their son just spent six years in the care of a _death eater_.”

***

The address was a piece of suburbia in the quieter part of London, an area with less pubs and more parks. A fairly modern building, it had an an iron gate protecting the stoop, and a narrow slice of lawn where a child's bike lay on it's side next to a decent sized tree, all it's leaves already shed. It looked fairly new, but incredibly muggle as the whole building felt standardized. Plastic light fixtures and stickers of flowers in the windows and barbie dolls left dirty and broken in the soil nearest the stoop.

A two-story home in muggle London.

Harry's steps stuttered and he reached out to steady himself on the fence in front of the building, pressing a hand to his heart and wishing, for the millionth time in his life, that the world was different.

The door of the building was shoved open and Harry froze, only to remember he'd thrown on his invisibility cloak over his robes, in respect for the muggle locale. A figure popped out and narrowed his eyes at the grey sky, fiddling with knit gloves before shuffling back inside.

Harry recognized him. Even after years of trying to forget, he recognized him.

Before he could even contemplate what to do the door was thrown open once more with the man helping someone significantly smaller through.

"I don't think you should put peas in it, is all." The smaller figure- a boy- _Teddy_ said, holding a bundle of fabric in his arms.

"But I always put peas in the stew." Malfoy said reasonably, glaring at the sky before snaking his arm back inside and coming back with an umbrella.

"I know ." Teddy sighed, much too long-suffering for his age. He reached out a hand.

Malfoy rolled his eyes but grabbed the offered hand, holding onto the railing and helping the little boy down the stairs of the stoop.

The boy…the boy was a normal child, energetic and round-faced, with a garishly orange raincoat and matching boots. His grin was grand and blinding, and directed firmly on the pale-blond pointy man completely covered in muggle garb and living in a muggle home. The umbrella was made of plastic for merlin’s sake, and though his coat was stylish with it’s grey pattern and upturned collar it was stylish in a…well _muggle_ way. That wasn’t what a Malfoy did.

It didn't make sense. Nothing about this made sense. The boy who'd been sat in the ministry's disgusting excuse for a courtroom with wrists bound in chains and dark circles under his eyes couldn't be the same person as the grown man casually dressed for rain, leading a child by the hand. The boy who'd tried to crucio Harry couldn't be the man indulging a child's idea of wit. The boy whose aunt had permanently scarred her hatred of muggles onto Hermione's skin could not be living in a nice muggle neighborhood wearing nice muggle clothes and dodging muggle children's toys on this way through the iron gate.

"I won't put peas in the stew if I can put broccoli in." Malfoy said as he closed the gate behind them.

Teddy squealed. "Daddy, that's perfect!"

Malfoy muttered under his breath about strange little boys who enjoyed broccoli but Harry didn't catch it, as his entire world had turned on it's axis and plunged into fiery rage. How dare he? Who the fuck does Malfoy think he is, letting Teddy call him that? His real father is buried under the earth after giving his life to fight the man that the Malfoy's had fucking hosted in their home. The man Malfoy had served. The man who'd killed his parents. And he taught Teddy to call him "daddy"? Does Teddy actually think Malfoy was his father? Did Malfoy feed Teddy some lark about getting a girl pregnant and then abandoning them? Did Teddy even know about Lupin? About Tonks? About the war that killed them and the medals they got after their deaths? Did he know that the man he thinks is his father helped the people that robbed him of an actual family?

Harry clawed at his neck trying to draw in breath but the rage was too much, his face was twisted and the smell of blood was so close he could taste it.

Malfoy stopped walking and flared his nostrils, whipping around to stare in the vague direction Harry was still invisible.

"Daddy...?"

Worse than rage, magic leapt from underneath Harry's skin, straining at his core and desperate to destroy the landscape around him. While Harry was desperate to undo what had clearly already been done.

He apparated. He couldn't stay there and even attempt to regain his control, not while Malfoy had his godson's hand in his. Not while they joked about supper. Not while Teddy called him "daddy" like Lupin had never existed.

***

His magic hadn't been the same after Voldemort. It had felt like a rubber band that was stretched for too long, and now that the pressure was off, it was too big. There was too much to hold onto and it slipped out if he forgot about it for just one second. It was like his magic was angry, but it wasn't. It was just too big.

And the whole Teddy situation felt the same. Too big. Hard to control. There wasn't enough calming draught in the world.

That doesn’t mean Harry didn't immediately go home to down a galleon of the stuff. He had to deal with this, he had to go back and witness for himself the reality with which he’d already been confronted. Seeing is not believing, as it turned out, because the denial refused to leave him even as Harry replayed the domestic scene he’d spied on over and over in his head. Malfoy hadn’t looked like himself, not at all. He was indistinguishable from a muggle and he’d appeared…calm. The Draco Malfoy at school was always tense, always twisting in on himself to be the center of attention. This Malfoy, this grown foreign version of him had appeared nothing less than content. It unnerved him.

By late afternoon Harry was steady, relatively, and physically walked to Malfoy's place in his muggle clothes this time, eliminating the option of disapparating. He needed to see Teddy, properly. He needed to know him.

As he approached he could hear noises from inside, the clanking of dishes and muffled voices. That was good. They were home. No reason to dally. 

Breathing twice, he knocked gently then stood back. Stood tall. Good fucking Merlin what was happening-?

"Can I help you?" And there was Malfoy, wearing more casual muggle clothes from what he’d been wearing that morning and with a dishrag over his shoulder, but still bearing a startling resemblance to the pointy git who'd been the school bully.

Even the fear that slowly grew on his face was familiar. He'd always been the cowardly sort.

Quick as a snitch Malfoy tried to wrench the door shut in his face, only managing to catch Harry's fingers as he tried to hold the door open. Pain blended with agitation and before he knew it Harry was literally kicking the door open and barging in, vaguely remarking on the beige muggle walls and haphazard pile of shoes on a mat. 

"Get out!" Malfoy shrieked, "I didn't give you permission to enter!"

Harry almost rolled his eyes at the offense in Malfoy's tone, but was quickly distracted as Malfoy started trying to physically _muscle_ him out of the house. "Get out!"

Fuck that. 

With a scowl and a grunt Harry went on the offensive, almost relaxing at how familiar fighting with Malfoy was. Instinct coursing through him had Harry kicking the door closed and pinning Malfoy to it like he would an assailant, an arm behind his back. The comparison wasn't far off, considering Malfoy was halfway to a kidnapper. 

"Are you going to calm down or an I going to have to stun you." Harry grit out.

Malfoy was panting, growling in his grip and making jerking movements to try and break free. He kicked behind which Harry dodged.

"You know, stunning you wasn't an idle threat. You're not exactly my favourite fucking person at the moment, Malfoy."

A patter of small steps. "...Daddy?"

The new rage at hearing that term of address made Harry tighten his grip for just a second, just enough to make Malfoy whimper, and just enough to have the boy who'd appeared at the top of the carpeted muggle stairs just beyond the doorway crying out in alarm.

Immediately Harry backed off, picturing the scene Teddy must be witnessing and letting Malfoy off the door. Malfoy sneered at him, but the tension was back in his shoulders.

Malfoy rubbed his wrist, steeling himself with a shaky breath. "Go to you room, Teddy," he said, much more calmly than he'd been speaking to Harry, and quite a bit more calmly than Harry expected of him. 

Teddy whimpered. "But-!"

"You're not in trouble," Malfoy said quickly, "but you need to go to your room while I deal with our guest."

Teddy's eyes slid over to Harry's and it took all of his willpower not to gasp. Teddy truly had Tonks' features, brown hair worn short and the dark eyes Harry knew would twinkle with mischief. He was clutching at the banister, shoulders to his ears and tiny fists clenched to his chest, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

"It's _okaypotential danger_ to _bad friend_. His nervousness disappeared, replaced with a jutting chin and a glare so pronounced it completely warped Tonks’ features into something distinctly Malfoy. 

Harry didn’t have it in him to be angry about it, feeling off-kilter. “Er, sorry.” 

Teddy’s eyes narrowed further and he scoffed, reaching up to grab Malfoy around the neck and whisper something in his ear. Malfoy smiled at him, but it was subdued. 

“Can you go to your room now?” He asked, hushed.

Teddy pursed his lips and flicked his eyes back to Harry, pulling his heart when he saw that no, not all the fear had been removed from Teddy’s gaze. Teddy shook his head at Malfoy’s question and tucked his face into Malfoy’s neck.

Malfoy sighed, whispering even lower to him, then hiking him up in his arms and marching back to Harry.

“What do you want.” Malfoy demanded. It was a stark contrast to the shrill tone he’d had before there was a child in his arms.

All at once Harry’s words leave him, clogging in his throat with emotions he didn’t expect him to find in this encounter.

Malfoy clenched his jaw, running a soothing hand over Teddy’s back. “I don’t know what you think I’m connected with _auror_ Potter but I’ve done nothing illegal by both muggle or magical laws, beyond what I’ve already been tried and acquitted for.”

Before Malfoy had said such a thing the idea that he could have still been involved with criminal activity had never entered Harry’s mind, but the thought made a new sickness burn his stomach. He’d have to look up Malfoy’s file when he got back to work. 

“Well?” Malfoy drawled, despite the caution in his voice. “Are you going to speak or has some tragic act of heroism robbed you of that ability?”

Teddy fussed at the words, which Malfoy quickly shushed. Harry licked his lips. “I’m not here on auror business.”

“Oh?” Malfoy inquired, his voice gaining a bit more edge. “Well if you’re here for a pleasure visit I’m afraid you’ve already mucked it up.”

“I’m not-” Harry exhaled, counting to ten in his head.

“Ah.” Malfoy nodded, suddenly calm. “So you’ve just come to terrorize me and my family then.”

_He’s not your family,_ Harry desperately wanted to say, but the words tied themselves into knots in his throat. He was. Technically. Maybe literally.

“I don’t know where you get off,” Malfoy fumed, working himself up, “but I shouldn’t have to explain to you why showing up out of the blue to someone’s home is rude, let alone _accosting_ them after being denied entry-”

“I’m Teddy’s godfather.” Harry spat out quickly, with an almost guilty desire to explain himself. 

Teddy whimpered and looked up from Malfoy’s shoulder, eyeing Harry with both curiosity and trepidation, his thumb finding it’s way to his mouth. Malfoy’s hand found Teddy’s neck and guided him back to his shoulder.

“What are you talking about?” Malfoy whispered, angling Teddy as far away from Harry as possible. 

“I-” Harry choked, collecting himself. “I’m his godfather.”

Malfoy watched him, intense grey eyes boring into Harry’s. “No, you’re not.”

Harry sighed, suddenly exhausted. The image of the fear in Teddy’s eyes as he saw Harry for the first time was cycling through his brain. “Ask Melinda from the Child’s Interest division. She seemed to know you.”

“Melinda?” Teddy squeaked. Malfoy pursed his lips, but Teddy continued. “Draco, he knows Melinda.”

“So it appears.” Malfoy said peacefully, brushing a hand though Teddy’s hair. Malfoy bit his lip, 

“I will ask Melinda about your claim. If you’re right then-” Malfoy cut off, a desperate gleam in his eye. “If you’re right then I will be in touch.”

Harry recognized the dismissal, but the new monster is Harry’s chest reeled. “I can’t leave without-” he didn’t know how to end the sentence.

“You need to leave, Potter.” Malfoy said, in a tone that brook no argument. He sounded like Mrs. Weasley.

Teddy made a sound at his voice, which Malfoy compulsively soothed. With that, with too much conflicting information and emotions running high, Harry let himself be shuffled out the door with no further issue, barely catching a small voice ask, “What’s a godfather?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope there are no missing patches, as Ive notice quite a bit of that lately. Ive done my best to beta but if any of you guys notice anything dont be afraid to lemme know and ill fix it! Anyways enjoy this chapter that has been ready for months but because of the *gestures vaguely* is only coming out now.

Draco was a bad person.

The ministry had come to claim him into their custody about a week after the battle of Hogwarts. Well, the international wizarding agents who were currently operating in the ministry that is, considering the Dark Lord had corrupted the majority. They'd come for him and his family at the manor. His mother had been begging his father that entire week to flee, to abandon their home that had been so abused by the death eaters and to move away. Father had had none of it, frantically sending letter after letter out to his political allies who'd never overtly sided with the Dark Lord during the war, confident he could escape charges as he'd done the last war over seventeen years ago.

He'd been given the kiss.

Of course Draco hadn't learned that until a few weeks into his detainment, shucked away into a cell in between some of the most horrific death eaters Draco had had the unfortunate opportunity to grow to know. The guards were on loan from the Romanian ministry, and had little pity for those they were guarding. Even so, a month into his detainment a guard addressed him, gruffly telling him his father's fate and then awkwardly shuffling away when Draco began to sob.

His solicitor had put together a case for him, as well as his mother. But while Lucius Malfoy was a big fish and had his trial almost immediately, Draco wasn't held to the same regard. He spent months in that cell, months to cry and bang his head against the wall and eat the repulsive toast they kept forcing through the door’s slot. 

Months of enforced introspection. 

He was a bad person, as there can be no doubt considering how his life had turned out. But more than that, he was barely a person at all.

Both startling and frustrating, Draco finally understood why the guards barely heckled him or why the prisoners on either side of him barely gave him a second glance. Why his father was dead while his trial was still months away. Why his solicitor always gave him a pat on the arm and confidently assured him he would be okay. Because he would be. Because people didn't care.

Draco wasn't a person in their eyes. He didn't think for himself, he didn't have values or beliefs. He was a child who had followed his father blindly. He'd never been genuine. He'd never cared about the cause.

Maybe they weren't entirely correct. It had certainly felt like Draco had believed what he'd espoused. He'd _felt_ like he'd cared, but sitting alone in his cell knowing his mother was in much the same position while his father was dead made him re-evaluate that. Draco was starting to understand that he'd never understood what _caring_ truly was. 

Draco was clever and witty and intelligent, he could command a room with his tall tales and make his mother laugh with a sly grin. But behind those qualities...was nothing. There was no soul to him. Nothing he believed in. Actually believed in. He was a superficial construct of what a person actually was.

Draco barely felt the days pass. 

Then his trial came and Harry Potter confirmed what he'd suspected. Coerced. Brainwashed. An idiot child who'd never had to think for himself. Scared and stupid. 

He was acquitted on all charges, released from the chains binding him in front of an audience of judgment and shuffled out of the courtroom to a private hallway.

A guard none-so-kindly gestured to a bench. "You might as well stay here," he said, "your mother's trial is finishing up today as well."

And just like that Draco's demeanor sharpened, the uncomfortable longing he'd felt and dismissed during his time detained growing until the feeling flared brightly and painfully in his stomach, along with the gut punch of a realization.

One thing, one value he'd created and tended all his own was his love for his family. He had that. A genuine source of humanity in him he could acknowledge and value. He was a person.

" _Et_ , um, Malfoy?" 

The voice was heavily accented french and belonging to the young woman with absurd spectacles and a massive piece of parchment floating next to her, quill poised.

The woman smiled, kind but brisk. "Could I speak to you? It will only take a moment." 

***

His name was Teddy.

"We only just got him crawling." The woman hushed, in deference to the swaddled baby dozing in the ministry's blandly decorated bassinet. 

Draco nodded, not able to find his voice. The room was a sea of children, all only babes, and all trapped in the same rudimentary bassinets. It looked like they'd been mass conjured.

"He's your cousin," the woman spoke like she was reading from a form, "his grandmother is your mother's sister." 

"Ah." Draco replied, mind carefully repressing memories of the only Aunt he'd ever met.

"He's only a few months old. His mother was a metamorphmagus, so we're still watching for signs that he will develop that ability. Thankfully it seems he didn't inherit his father's lycanthropy. He's just a tad underweight but nothing to worry about - he's a very good eater."

The woman stared at him carefully, steepling her fingers then bringing them down to rest on her lap. "We would be very grateful if you could take him in." 

The thought had been at the back of his mind the entire interaction. A whimsical, ludicrous thought that somehow a death eater had been called to provide something to the children who’d lost parents during the war. A gesture of goodwill, or perhaps one last piece of penance the ministry hadn’t named in his trial. Whatever he’d thought, he’d never actually believed they’d _give him_ a bloody child.

“I- well I don’t,” Draco stuttered but then the baby squirmed, letting out a whine as he struggled awake.

“Oh, _mon Dieu_ ,” the woman whispered, putting a soothing hand in to tuck the blanket more firmly around the child.

Teddy grumbled and peeked out at her, looking much too disgruntled for a baby. He coughed and a spit bubble formed at the corner of his mouth which the woman wiped away. The baby seemed to take offense to the action, affronted with narrowed eyes.

“There there.” The woman shushed, gently brushing his cheek. Teddy looked at Draco beseeching, as if vying for a rescue. 

Draco swallowed.

“What will happen to him if I say no?”

The woman sighed. “We’ll try more relatives, but if no one takes him in then we’ll just have to care for him until a spot opens up at an orphanage.”

Teddy’s eyes flicked between the two adults staring at him suspiciously, an eerily familiar nose wrinkling as his face started scrunching up.

He had the Black nose.

“Okay.” Draco choked out, not believing his words even as he spoke them. _Okay?_

The woman gave him a grateful smile, then led him aside to fill out the requisite forms.

His mother was not so grateful.

***  
Brown parcels tied together and stacked on top of each other leaned in precarious towers around the shabby room. Letters in freely falling mountains claim each corner and a sea of parchment falls in between them. White, beige, and grey paper and parchment completely cover the drab colour of the carpet, with a fair bit of pink envelopes Harry dare not touch. The pile was worse than he thought. 

Harry sighed, closing the door and sealing the room off once more. When he'd returned from Malfoy's the previous night, angry and confused and full of such impossible thoughts he thought his head would cave in, he'd marched right into this room desperate to find Andromeda's letter. It was only the reality of how long such a thing would take that sent him to bed. He'd had to be up in the morning. 

Such a taunting idea, having a job to return to after such an earth-shattering shift. For years Harry had nothing to fill his days, and now responsibilities clashed. Harry had walked into work that morning with circling thoughts that demanded his attention, firmly pulling him away from his duties. Well Teddy was his duty now, wasn’t he? His duty as a godfather was to ensure his safety, and Harry hadn’t even ensured his _location_. Regardless of any impression Malfoy’s muggle home or his interaction with Teddy might have had on him, it was still Malfoy. 

But whether he liked it or not, Malfoy had made an impression on him. He was undeniably recognizable as the Malfoy Harry had experienced in school, dignified and pompous when he’d talked down to Harry with such a posh accent. But he’d berated Harry…with a toddler tucked into his neck, effortlessly placed there in such a familiar gesture that made a nerve in Harry’s heart twinge. Even now, after a full day of slogging through work and replaying that picture over and over in his head, Harry couldn’t reconcile the slytherin death eater bully with the man who had so carefully cradled Teddy’s head. 

(Which doesn’t mean Harry didn’t immediately search for any kind of documented information of Draco Malfoy post-war using his auror clearance. With the exception of unsubstantiated suspicious sightings in Diagon Alley, Malfoy had completely disappeared from the wizarding world.)

Harry grimaced, glaring at the peeling wallpaper of grimmauld place. He’d have to. He would have to find a way to reconcile the two people. Harry didn’t know how to proceed without all the information and his godson’s health and happiness were at stake. There was obviously a relationship between Teddy and Malfoy, they’d spent six years together for bleeding’s sake, but beyond that and a ten minute confrontation Harry didn’t know anything about their lives. Anything about _Teddy’s_ life. 

"Mate!" Ron called from a floor below. It was Monday, which meant that Ron was over for a delicious takeout dinner. Hermione would be working late and as such wouldn’t be around to frown over the lacking nutritional value. It also meant that Harry had to suffer through Ron’s internal struggle to pick a restaurant, as if they wouldn’t be ordering from the exact same fish n’ chips place they always go to.

Harry rounded the corner of the bannister, only to be blindsided by the still unusual sight of Draco Malfoy in full muggle regalia, hands shoved in his Jean pockets looking distinctly chived off. "Oi Mate! There's a prat here to see you!" Ron cried from the bottom of the stars, jerking a thumb behind him at the visitor.

"So courteous, Weasley." Malfoy sneered, "did Granger finally put you on a leash?”

“Ah,” Ron sighed, appearing more wistful than offended, “This takes me back.”

Malfoy shoved his hands further into his trousers, eyes dancing around the room looking anywhere but Harry.

"Well this is drab. Was your interior decorator some sort of cave-dwelling creature?"

Harry ignored him, fully aware at the abysmal state of his home. “Ron, er,” he said instead, “could you go get supper? I need to speak to Malfoy.”

Ron eyed him. “You need to speak with Malfoy.”

Giving his friend a complicated yet begging look, Ron rolled his eyes to the sky. “The things you get up to.” But, well, Ron had matured a great deal more than Harry in the last few years because with a lazy salute and a dazzling grin at Malfoy (which had Malfoy shifting uncomfortably, as was obviously the intention) he was out the door.

"So," Harry began, shuffling awkwardly.

"So." Malfoy concurred, nodding his head.

Harry frowned. "You checked with Melinda then?" 

Malfoy hummed, crossing his arms.

"And she verified my claim?" 

A pinched look distorted Malfoy's features. "Are you going to offer me tea, Potter? I imagine this conversation will take a while."

"Will it?"

Malfoy nodded, fiddling with the sleeves on his jumper. "It will."

Harry made tea.

***

"He was my family."

Steam curled upwards off of Harry's teacup. He desperately wanted a sip. "That's it?"

"That was it." Malfoy took a sip, unencumbered by the heat. 

"And living in a muggle neighborhood?" 

Malfoy shrugged. "It was easier for me to walk around with him. I didn't want people accosting me when I was carrying a baby, as you can imagine."

It was Harry's turn to hum. In the two days since he'd done very much the same thing to Malfoy he'd gone into work to look up Malfoy's file and all his goings-on. There was scarcely anything there, just a few incidents of spotting the man in Diagon Alley that the prophet had found scandalous.

"And the," Harry gestured at Malfoy's clothes, "was apart of that." 

Malfoy's eyebrow twitched. He took another sip. "Yes. Brilliant deduction auror." 

Harry huffed. The tea was still too hot.

"Why now?" Malfoy asked, his tone much lower than his usual biting remarks. "It's been years."

Harry had an answer, an answer he'd allowed himself to have without shame. He'd been sick. He'd been trapped. He'd been swamped with too many damn funerals to count and it had all been too much for a teenager fresh out of a war. 

But to say such a thing to Malfoy...would be impossible. Malfoy may have surprised him, may be just midly more restrained with his tongue and may go gallivanting to muggle markets to buy his food but he was still _Malfoy_. The thought of showing any bit of weakness, any bit of vulnerability to the person who'd broken his nose or let death eaters into Hogwarts or tried to kill Dumbledore, well, it was impossible.

"I was busy." Was all he said, and recognized how he lost respect in Malfoy's eyes.

Harry flinched, internally wondering if the truth would have stopped it. Then wondering why he cared about Malfoy's respect.

Malfoy sipped his tea. "Ah."

Harry's tea was finally cool enough, but he didn't drink.

"What do you want then?" Malfoy asked, putting his teacup in its saucer and sitting straighter.

"I-" what did he want? "I want to make sure Teddy's safe."

Malfoy nodded. "Melinda is the only one who knows our address, barring you now of course. I never take Teddy with me to the wizarding world so no one even knows I have him. There aren't any proper wards around the house, being muggle, but I've put up enough rudimentary wards that have sufficed. The ministry wouldn't let me keep Teddy if he wasn't safe. Is that it?"

Harry struggled internally. "No."

What Harry wanted was for the world to be what was promised to him. 

“I need to see Teddy.” 

Malfoy huffed. “Well you’re not exactly his favourite person at the moment.” 

“And you’re not exactly mine.” Harry retorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. The inherent dislike regarding Malfoy was juxtaposed to their situation, leaving Harry grappling to form any kind of opinion.

Luckily Malfoy didn’t have anything to say to that. He sipped his tea.

“He calls you ‘Daddy’.” 

Malfoy sighed, averting his eyes with a faint pink in his cheeks. “He saw the people on the telly do it. He’s going through a phase.” 

It was a good thing Harry wasn’t drinking his tea. “You have a _television_?” Muggle architecture he could handle, but muggle devices were something completely different.

“Of course we have a television. Teddy’s friends, not to mention their parents, would assume I was some religious nut and depriving poor Teddy of all the luxuries the middle-class could offer.”

Begrudgingly, Harry chuckled. 

They lapsed into silence once more, though much more companionable than Harry had ever achieved with Malfoy. It was very strange.

“Alright.” Malfoy said, finishing off his tea with one last delicate sip. “You can see him.”

And, well, this was why Harry couldn’t form an opinion. Malfoy was sitting across from him, haughty and poised and oozing disrespect with every breath. Yet the mere fact he was here, in his home drinking the tea Harry had served and revealing any information Harry asked for meant something. 

Harry exhaled. “I want to be in his life.”

Malfoy twitched. “We’ll start with supper.”

***

The third time Harry took a look at the muggle home may have been be less intense, less horrified, but no less emotionally engaged. It was darker, sky overcast and angry in a way Harry couldn’t help feel was directed at him. He was here for dinner with his godson for the first time ever.

After such an offer, given completely against Harry’s expectations, he’d determined to be completely open to any conclusions he could draw about the life of one Draco Malfoy and his ward. Maybe Malfoy was torturing bunnies out in the shed, or maybe he was actually father Christmas in disguise. Both extremes could be a very real possibility, as Harry had forced himself to believe. He was walking into unfamiliar territory and it was simply his duty to observe as rationally as he could. Unbiased. A truthful account with no lingering opinions on Draco Malfoy or this absurd situation. Like an auror.

When Malfoy opened the door he barely spared him a glance before ushering Harry in, gesturing for him to add his loafers to the shoe pile. The shoe pile, along with all other domestic and trivial evidence of human occupants still left Harry flat-footed and strangely blank. An ornate bowl full of business cards and breath mints sat upon a lovely wooden table. Static photos of landscapes and nature decorated the wall. Nicks to the baseboard and bumps to the beige walls speak of a well-used hallway. Used by children.

The room he was steered into was no different. A kitchen opened up next to the entrance, white marble counters over blue cabinets. The sink was perched under the front facing window, adding plenty of natural light even with the dreary day. The kitchen flowed freely into the living room, television balanced in the corner with an earthy brown couch angled towards the glass. A bin full of colourful, plastic muggle toys sat next to the TV, looking haphazardly cleaned up. 

“Supper will be served soon.” Malfoy muttered, gesturing to the neatly set kitchen table that marked the boundary between the separation of the two rooms. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Teddy’s upstairs.” Malfoy explained, shooting him a dirty look for the language. He then raised his voice to a shout. “I’m sure he’ll be down soon! Like he promised!”

A thump came from upstairs, and Harry watched as Malfoy carefully cocked his head to listen further. 

“I’m coming!” 

Teddy barreled down the stairs much the same as he’d done before, tripping on the last few steps only to catch himself on the rail. He was dressed like an adult, with a knitted cardigan over a solid colour, but more startling was the white-blond hair worn stylishly sculpted in parody of Malfoy’s current style. Teddy gave Harry and imperious look, hands on his hips before striding right past him to Malfoy’s side. 

Harry choked. “His hair-”

“He’s a metamorphagus. I’m told his mother had the same ability.” Malfoy ran his hand over Teddy’s head as he spoke.

“Er, right.” 

The kitchen fell into silence, Teddy glaring at him from his vigil in front of Malfoy. It was…unbearably awkward. 

Harry coughed. Mustering up some gryffindor courage, he tried to push the discomfort down only to realize his ‘observe Teddy’s homelife unbiasedly’ plan meant he’d failed to realize he had no idea plan to how to act.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, taking a step towards Teddy and suddenly realizing he didn’t know how to talk to children, “I don’t think we were properly introduced. My name is Harry Potter.”

Teddy’s mouth dropped open, jaw hitting the floor as he clutched Malfoy’s pants. He gathered himself impressively for his age, but shifted on his feet, looking back between Malfoy and Harry. Malfoy had completely turned away from them, busying himself with the food on the counter.

“Are you _the_ Harry Potter?” Teddy asked him dubiously, narrowed eyes inspecting Harry like a specimen (another Malfoy mannerism).

Harry nodded, letting himself be examined with all the grace he could muster considering the circumstances.

“You can’t be.” Teddy decided.

“I can’t be?”

“No.” 

Harry stared into the unrelenting child eyes. “Why not?”

Teddy set his jaw. “Harry Potter is a hero. You’re a bully.”

Taken aback once more Harry barely had time to process the words before Malfoy cut in.

“Teddy! Mind your manners.”

Teddy made a sour face, curling into Malfoy’s hip and grabbing at his belt loop. “Is supper almost ready?”

Malfoy exhaled. “It’s ready. Go sit down.”

The uncomfortable air was the theme for the meal, Teddy mulishly poking at his pasta while Malfoy’s eyes remained firmly affixed to his plate, even though his posture remained impeccable. Supper was actually quite delicious though, much to Harry’s surprise. Aside from the Weasley’s weekly dinners, Harry didn’t really get the opportunity to have such rich and home-cooked food. Linguine with some sort of white sauce liberally seasoned in a heavenly concoction. Bread and salad on the side, with what looked like a handmade vinaigrette. Teddy didn’t touch it, only gracefully accepting the bits of cucumber Malfoy shuffled onto his plate, but the whole meal was exquisite. Harry almost felt like it should be paired with wine, which he only cared to drink on special occasions.

“This is very good.” He finally spoke, leaping onto the only subject he felt was safe.

Malfoy’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Absolutely eloquent compliment, Potter. You should be a food journalist.”

_Observe rationally Harry. You’re an auror._ “I mean it.” Harry said, taking another bite for emphasis. “This is amazing. Did you prepare everything, Malfoy?”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but had obviously also made some sort of deal with himself as Harry had towards peace since he decided to reply. “I did.”

Harry hummed, savoring the flavour as they fell into silence again. Surprisingly, the silence didn’t last long as Malfoy continued. “I like cooking.”

Harry swallowed his bite. “Do you?”

“He really does.” Teddy interjected, making both Harry and Malfoy swivel their heads to him. “He takes classes for it.”

“He does?” Harry asked at the same time Malfoy said a quiet “Teddy.”

“Well, you do.” Teddy said, nodding. “Three times a week when I’m at school.”

Suddenly feeling delighted, Harry latched onto the information. “You go to school?” 

Teddy made a face. “Duh. I’m six.”

Harry nodded easily, feeling the extreme gap in his knowledge of child development make itself known. He’d have to buy a book or something, maybe pester Molly on where a six year-old should be in life.

“I thought magical children were usually home-schooled until Hogwarts?”

Malfoy made a noise. “They are, but I wanted Teddy to have muggle friends. And it’s an easy way to give me some rest from his antics.”

“Hey!” Teddy protested, but he had a distinctly mischievous grin which spoke to zero offense. Malfoy rolled his eyes and playfully kicked Teddy’s chair.

“So, you go to a Muggle school?”

“I used to.” Teddy said. “But then my hair got all wobbly and Draco thought it would be better to go to a magic place.”

Harry turned to Malfoy for clarification and was startled to find him already watching him. Slowly, Malfoy nodded. “When it was clear Teddy was a metamorphagus it would be too dangerous to allow him to go to a muggle school unsupervised. I used the muggle nursery, but now he goes to a private wizarding institution to learn his basics…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “I can send you his records if you want them.”

Harry did want them, but was more blown away that Malfoy would so easily offer such a thing to him.

_You wanted to come here with no bias. Act like it._

“Thank you, very much.”

After that exchange the evening was a lot less tense. Yes, it was still an exercise and by the time Harry called it a night he’d felt thoroughly wrung out, but conversation that wasn’t lined with barbs or hostility was a huge win. Instead they spent an hour or so over tea and biscuits (which Malfoy has also made), having a stilted conversation about this and that while Teddy watched. Eventually he got bored and asked to be excused but he remained in the line of sight, pulling out a toy from the bin and fiddling with it on the floor. Teddy’s animosity seemed to have abated towards him (apparently children were fickle), but when he remembered he disliked Harry he made sure to shoot him dirty looks.

It was all…entirely too domestic. Harry had gone in with zero expectations and yet still he found them subverted. Draco Malfoy took muggle cooking classes. The majority of Teddy’s friends were muggle. He played with little plastic men and casually shifted his hair to match the cowboy figurine without even noticing it. 

Somehow it was only now that Harry realized he was stepping into someone’s _life_. That the nonsensical idea of Malfoy stealing Teddy away was surrounded by context that Harry had no knowledge of. The Draco Malfoy he knew was a prat, and might still be, but the person who lounges in front of the telly in muggle jeans could never, ever be mistaken for the boy who’d preached pureblood nonsense every week like sermon.

Harry didn’t know this person.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and angst you know the drill. Introducing a cat, a draco perspective, and a child that loves it when adults listen to him even when he hates them. God I love teddy hes just such a wacky kid.

Just one month into caring for Teddy, being forced to take up residence in a _muggle_ hotel of all things, Draco began a new existential crisis.

“Mother, please.” Draco begged, holding the babe on his lap even as he struggled. “What am I doing wrong?”

His mother was unperturbed, casually flipping through the prophet. “Why don’t you consult one of the books you bought, Draco?”

Draco huffed, a bead of sweat rolling down his head as Teddy continued to struggle. “They can give me all the raw information, but I need to know which one is pertinent to my situation.”

“And that situation is..?” 

Pink rose in his cheeks. “You know.”

His mother simply kept reading.

Draco sighed. “He doesn’t like me.” As if to punctuate the thought Teddy aimed a kick at his gut.

“Yes, well, you can’t make people like you.”

“Mother!”

“This is why we never got you a crup.”

“Ack!” Draco screamed, hefting Teddy up as he burped.

Narcissa sighed, closing her paper and eyeing her son. “He is _yours_ to care for, Draco. You’re the one who assumed responsibility, so I don’t know what you want from me.”

Draco flushed. “He just seems to like you better and I don’t know why.”

It was true. Even as he spoke Teddy leaned towards Narcissa, hands trying to grab at her hair. His mother pressed two fingers to her temple, massaging gently. “Have you tried simply- giving him attention?”

Draco glared. “Of course I give him attention. I’m not neglectful.”

“You sit with him and give him toys. You don’t talk to him, Draco.”

“He’s a baby. He wouldn’t understand so he wouldn’t gain anything.” Draco pursed his lips. “And I do talk to him.”

“You talk _around_ him. I’m sure those infernal books would have told you to talk to him.”

Draco said nothing, dropping his head and fiddling with Teddy’s struggling limbs.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Narcissa breathed, folding the prophet closed on her lap. “I think you find it shameful to speak kindly. That you’re embarrassed to speak to a child in the mild way they need because for whatever reason you believe it’s a weakness.”

Draco locked his jaw, letting her words settle in the luxurious yet somehow cramped hotel room. Carefully, Draco re-arranged Teddy to be facing him, balancing his feet on Draco’s thighs.

“Hello.” Draco said seriously. Narcissa rolled her eyes.

“Soften your voice, dear. You have a man’s voice now.”

Flushing deeper, Draco cleared his throat. 

“Hi, there.” He murmured, letting his voice pitch itself higher. Teddy stared. He wasn’t fussing at least.

His mother laughed. “Well? Introduce yourself properly, Draco.”

Draco scowled, angling himself and Teddy away from her. He took a breath. “My name is Draco. I think you knew that. Well,” he considered, “you probably don’t know that, but it’s been said before.” Draco frowned. “I guess I haven’t actually ever introduced myself. How inappropriate.”

Feeling an embarassed pinch in his chest Draco hunched his shoulders, but when he looked up at his mother she had returned to her prophet, unconcerned at Draco’s actions.

Emboldened, Draco turned back to Teddy. “I _hate_ people who lack proper manners, so I demand you accept my sincerest apologies.”

Tucking Teddy into one arm, he extended his other hand in the mimic of a handshake. Teddy stared. Reaching out, Draco took Teddy’s hand in his and gave it a decisive shake. “There. Thank you so much for forgiving me.”

Teddy giggled.

***

Teddy’s records arrived just a few days later, everything from school records from his muggle nursery to vaccinations to chronicled visitations from Melinda. Teddy was apparently an active little boy who plays on a muggle football team (though “team” was a stretch) and had a wide social net of friends whose information Draco also felt the need to give him, along with his class schedule. It was a bit much, but Harry felt…considered. And it certainly felt good to pepper in facts to Teddy’s life.

Along with all those papers were two sets of birth certificates (one magical, one muggle) and a letter from Malfoy himself.

_Potter,_

_I trust you will be satisfied by the information enclosed. If there is anything further you wish to know you need but ask. On that note, I wish to inform you that our fireplace is not connected to the floo nor will it ever be. Whenever you wish to reach me please use a muggle telephone and ring the number enclosed. If you do not own a telephone then go buy one._

_Supper was fine, I suppose, so whenever you want to see Teddy just ring me and I’ll set it up. For the time being I must insist I always be present when you meet with Teddy._

_Regards,  
Draco Malfoy_

That wanker. _I suppose,_ huh.

But, well, he wasn’t wrong. Supper had been…lovely. Teddy didn’t like him but Harry already loved him. Loved his adorable little scowl, his chatty and sociable personality, his bravery, and his loyalty. Sure, it was loyalty to his childhood nemesis but it was loyalty nonetheless. From the few hours of just watching Teddy play and glare at him (as well at the heavy pile of papers detailing his life) Harry could tell he was a passionate kid. How to get that passionate little toddler to like him would be the issue, but Harry had hope. 

A few dozen galleons lighter Harry had a fancy new mobile and a rather terse conversation with the only wizard who uses mobiles (somehow that wizard was Draco Malfoy) and he’d set up plans for another supper for the coming Saturday. Maybe he should bring something? Damn, should he have brought something last time? Malfoy had said he’d cooked everything though, and he seemed like the type to be particular about what, uh, _accoutrement_ he’d want with his cooking (and honestly the sheer idea that Malfoy was out there cooking the muggle way was still too senseless to fully process). Maybe he should bring something for Teddy? A toy? What kind of toy would he want, but not have? Malfoy seemed like the doting type after all. Should he just call Malfoy again? Er, well no that doesn’t sound like a lovely idea. Still, he wanted to bring something.

Harry sighed, but his mood was still high. Not even walking into work to a thick file on his desk could ruin his mood.

“Ugh,” Kennedy, the auror across from him sighed, “good luck with that one, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, dropping his bag by his feet. “I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Ha!” Kennedy barked. He was a bit too loud and reclined in his seat with his hands behind his head. “I’m sure of that, Harry.”

Harry pressed his lips together but shrugged, refusing to let Kennedy’s special kind of strangeness ruin his day. Kennedy was a more senior auror than Harry, but not by much. Not a strong contender for promotion any time soon, he was still a competent auror deserving of respect. It was just especially terrible he was afflicted with a particularly bad case of hero-worship that caused him to overstep a few social boundaries. It put Harry off a bit, but it could certainly be worse.

The file ended up being an overzealous apothecary manager (not owner! The notes from the ministry agent who’d taken the initial case notes exclaimed) to a rural wizarding community who was absolutely certain supplies had been stolen, but seemed to have misplaced sale records for Harry to match to the original order records. The manager had instead sent ten months of backlogged records to prove how detail-oriented they were, and therefore the unprovable crime was true because they could be trusted to be kept fully aware of their stock. Basically Harry was being forced to investigate a crime that most likely hadn’t happened with an overzealous client for an essential business that cannot afford to be disrupted in a small community. 

Harry sighed. 

“Told you.” Kennedy grinned. He’d been watching Harry the whole time he read the file. Harry refused to let himself care.

***

By the end of the week Harry was beyond knackered. He hadn’t had time to consider what to get Teddy and certainly hadn’t had time to ring Malfoy to ask. Balancing the ego of a big fish in a small town was an exercise in patience Harry hadn’t even felt when dealing with an angry and vengeful toddler. Harry loved his job, it stimulated him and made him feel fulfilled, but public relations wasn’t exactly his favourite part.

Harry stood before Malfoy’s home after sleeping until noon, hastily showering off the week’s work, and throwing on an old Weasley jumper. He folded down the wrinkles in the garment, somehow nervous. He’d started the week off so confident but now felt a strange nervous energy. Harry shook his head.

The doorbell rang for barely a second before the door was being wrenched open.

“Come in quickly!” A harried Malfoy demanded, gesturing wildly, then slamming the door shut as soon as Harry shuffled in. A squeal sounded from the living room and Draco sprinted towards it, Harry on his heels completely dumbfounded.

A small bell jingled merrily and as Harry rounded the corner just a step behind Malfoy an orange ball of fur sprang at his host, a small nose nuzzling into his throat.

“Oh.” Draco said in a strange voice, wrapping arms around the creature. “Oh you are _such_ a bad boy. Very naughty.”

The cat purred, tail swishing as it reached up to lick at Draco’s chin. Harry blinked, but then another pint-sized projectile was aimed in their direction. With a shrill laugh, Teddy barreled into Malfoy, reaching up to pat the lowest section of the cat.

“Gently.” Malfoy warned, before lowering to his knees so Teddy could pet the cat properly.

“Uh,” Harry said intelligently, “you have a cat?”

Teddy squealed and nodded, apparently too excited to remember his dislike towards him. Malfoy also nodded, a bit disbelieving and exasperated, but nodding.

“Did you always have a cat?” Harry asked, feeling awkward about being the only one standing.

“Nope!” Teddy all but screeched, taking a step away from the cat as he bounced violently up and down. His hair was a matching orange to the cat’s fur.

Malfoy tried to put the cat down but it held on, somehow keeping furry arms trapped around Malfoy’s neck without digging too deep in with his claws. The cat nuzzled into Draco’s face, forcing him to tilt his head up to avoid the furry assault. It was…unfairly adorable.

“Teddy.” Draco huffed around the fur, “Go shake his food.”

Teddy nodded, giddily taking off to the kitchen just beyond the archway. Harry watched as Teddy reached down and produced a small ceramic bowl full of kibble that he gave a careful shake. Immediately, the cat jumped from Malfoy’s arms, using his chest as a springboard and launching himself towards Teddy. Teddy squealed once again, eagerly placing the bowl back on the floor and backing away.

Malfoy exhaled, straightening up and dusting his pale blue jumper. “So,” he said, not making eye contact, “supper will be ready soon. We’re having roast.”

Malfoy walked off before Harry could reply, hurrying into the kitchen where the clatter of ceramic soon followed. Harry stared, but quickly shook off the entire scene as Teddy came sprinting back to him. 

“Hi,” Harry said tentatively.

“Did you see the cat?!” Teddy demanded, still bouncing. When Harry nodded, he continued, “Do you want to know his name?!”

“Okay.” Harry agreed, but before he could react Teddy was grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the television. 

Teddy rummaged around in a small set of shelves filled with tapes, emerging with a purple VHS. “Have you seen this film?”

Harry inspected the film. It had a number of different cats in different states, some playing instruments. “ _The Aristocats_?” Harry read.

Teddy nodded vigorously. “It’s my favourite film ever. You see this orange cat?” He pointed at a drawing of an orange cat on the cover. “His name is Thomas O’Malley, and so is my new cat!”

Harry nodded, his nervous energy from before helping him match Teddy’s excitement. “How did you get him?”

That was all the prompting Teddy needed to launch into the story of a poor orange tabby he and Malfoy had found digging holes in a park they went to. He embellished the tale like it was a daring rescue instead of the cat being somehow enchanted with Malfoy and following them on their way home. Harry settled down on his knees and listened attentively, thrilled at the set of circumstances that had his godson giving him his undivided attention and his good mood.

“And do you know why I picked to name him after the orange cat?” Teddy asked, shaking Harry’s arm in his excitement. “It’s because he loves Draco so much! Doesn’t that make sense?”

“Uh,” Harry didn’t want to break Teddy’s stride, “Because they’re alike?”

“No!” Teddy squawked. He looked around frantically then picked up the film he’d dropped in his tirade. “It’s because Draco is like Duchess! And the orange cat is in love with Duchess just like how Thomas loves Draco! Doesn’t it make sense?”

Harry nodded sagely. “Yes, that does make sense.”

Teddy whipped around to give Malfoy a smug look. “I told you!”

Malfoy groaned, covering his face with his hands. Teddy whipped back around. “Daddy didn’t get it even though I explained it a million times.” He said dramatically, rolling his eyes.

Teddy raved for a few minutes further, recounting a number of anecdotes around the cat (which had made it’s way back over to sniff curiously at Harry’s ankles) and Harry listened attentively to every word. He had been right about Teddy’s passion it seemed, he was so energetic. Were all children as spirited as Teddy was? Well, objectively that was probably the case, but watching Teddy zoom around as he gestured like a madman made Harry feel like Teddy was special.

“Supper! Put the film away, Teddy.” 

Teddy did as he was told without a word of complaint, and the two of them migrated to the table where they were treated to the sight of a lovely Sunday roast.

“Oh, wow.” Harry gaped at the floral china and neatly arranged table linens. The meat was already carved, picturesque slices lined up and covered in some kind of gravy. Accompanied was a lovely blue casserole dish full of mashed potatoes that appeared to have been double-baked, and a matching ornate platter with a deliberate arrangement of green beans. Fancy glasses full of water sat in the corner of each table setting (except Teddy’s, his cup was neon orange and very obviously unbreakable) and a low vase full of daisies sat right in the center of the table, completing the look. 

Teddy was already seated, sipping at his water and staring at Harry. 

“Uh,” Harry sat down and Teddy immediately tucked in. “What’s the occasion?”

Draco rolled his eyes, serving Teddy a portion of green beans which he accepted much too excitedly for it being vegetables. Teddy was a weird kid.

“No occasion.” Draco said, folding his napkin on his lap. “Some people just have higher standards for mealtimes.”

Harry pursed his lips and remembered the simple (albeit delicious and nothing _he_ could ever have accomplished) meal they’d had a week ago. Shrugging, Harry cut into his meat and took a bite, only for his salivatory glands to erupt and send a very urgent message to his brain telling him to _consume_. 

Restraining himself from impersonating Ron on Christmas Harry swallowed, carefully putting his fork down and taking a sip of water. A new philosophical question posed itself to Harry; is it possible that having Malfoy serve him delicious food would create an incentive to for Harry to forget what an absolute tit he’d been in school? Was this all a contrived and delectable slytherin ploy? 

“I think it’s a celebration.” Teddy pronounced, running his (pre-cut) bites of meat through the gravy. “For Thomas.”

“We didn’t have the cat when I bought the groceries,” Draco pointed out.

“Ya!” Teddy laughed, “But it worked out that way dinnit?”

Draco hummed, relaxing into his chair. For the first time Harry got the impression that it wasn’t just Teddy who was brimming with happiness at the new addition to the household. The cat in question was currently making chirping noises at their feet, rubbing up against their legs. Teddy made a sad comment about how he was used to begging for food which prompted Malfoy to say that under no circumstances was Teddy to feed his prime cut roast that he’d spent forever on to an animal. Teddy then said that, if the meal truly was in honour of Thomas, then of course he should have a piece. Draco put his foot down and said Teddy was absolutely not to give the cat his food. Teddy passionately argued against him. Harry ate. 

The feeling of both intrusion and amusement carried Harry through the evening. Teddy was too adorable not to love, even if he mostly concentrated his attention on Malfoy. Harry never really considered children beyond a vague hope that he would have them someday. They were always ideas, the would-be markings of when Harry would have his happily-ever-after. But when it came to actually interacting with children…well, Harry only had his own personal memories of being a child. Being bullied and then revered. He had no idea what it took to interact with a child (as he’d very much proven) or how to take care of them.

_Malfoy seems to,_ Harry thought, and couldn’t help the slight narrowing of his eyes.

Supper crawled to a close with Teddy patting his belly theatrically and the cat winding between his feet expectantly, having actually succeeded in charming a slice of meat. Draco gathered the dishes and Teddy leapt up, picking up the cutlery where the china would be too heavy. 

“Uh,” Harry started, getting up to help but, not finding anymore work to be done, just hovered awkwardly over the table. 

“Sit down, Potter,” Malfoy scorned, but his tenor was much softer than the scorn he’d shown at Hogwarts, “You’re our guest.”

Teddy huffed in agreement and in just a handful of moments they were back on the couch, just like they were last week, with Teddy at their heels and Malfoy at his side. The cat was a new addition, rubbing up against Teddy’s face as he stared as close as he can get before seeming to remember something and jump up on Malfoy’s lap. Teddy didn’t seem offended, just smug.

“Can we watch the film again, Draco?” Teddy asked, clasping his hands behind his back and staring at Malfoy from behind his eyelashes.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I suppose so.”

Feeling a bit like he was imposing once again (because a film was just a bit more of a commitment wasn’t it? Was he being invited to stay or was he being subtly asked to leave?) Harry jerked in his seat, not knowing if he needed to rise or not.

Malfoy noticed. “Why don’t you ask our guest if he would like to watch the film?”

Teddy twitched from where he’d been fiddling with the entertainment system and slowly turned around, eyes lowered and feet scuffing the ground. 

“Could we please watch this film, Mr. Potter?” he asked demurely, hands held politely in front of him. 

Harry felt his throat dry with emotion. It was the first time Teddy had addressed him. “Sure,” he choked out.

Teddy immediately went back to his work and Harry heard a coughing laugh from beside him. “He’s a little manipulator.”

That was an understatement. Harry swore he felt his heart actually stop when Teddy turned those eyes on him.

The film turned out to be quite cute, if a little dated. Mostly Harry just let himself revel in the strangeness, if only because he was sick of feeling awkward. He was sharing a couch with Draco Malfoy and that was just his life now. He was watching cartoon cats play jazz music and watching his godson pop up and start kicking out his legs in mimicry. He was feeling amused at the idea that Malfoy would be compared to an extremely mothering and feminine cartoon cat and delighting in how Malfoy would squirm at the comparison. It was _good_ , and even though it confused him and made him uncomfortable and even made his stomach clench if he thought about how it came to be, it was still good. He was still lucky to have discovered such a… _normal_ upbringing for his godson, even if the circumstances around it continued to leave him distressed and ashamed.

An adult laugh sounded next to him and Harry glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. Maybe the strangest thing about this whole thing is that he expected a fight. He remembered Narcissa, he remembered the first moments of his re-awakening and the tinge of jealousy at her devotion to her child, even if the feeling barely registered in the moment. Even Lucius, though Harry hated to consider him for any extended period of time, was a devoted father. When he’d found out Draco had taken Teddy he’d been out of his mind with what-ifs, but the forefront of his fear had been about Malfoy passing on horrible plureblood shite. He hadn’t been _fully_ unprepared for the reality that Teddy was in a loving home, after seeing Malfoy’s family. Truthfully he’d been expecting Narcissa to be about, but she hadn’t been even mentioned once.

Harry frowned, completely drawn out of the film. She should have been the one the ministry went to first. Malfoy was marked and she wasn’t, plus she was of closer relation. Had she simply refused? A new dread started in his chest. Harry knew what happened to Lucius, and even though he knew that Narcissa had gone free that didn’t mean much if someone wanted her dead. The fact that the ministry records Draco’s Diagon visits as suspicious even to this day says something about the lasting effects of the war. If something had happened to her then Draco would have been it.

Harry shook himself. If something had happened to Narcissa then he would have found out by now. Still, it was another question that needed an answer. Eventually, though Harry is not prepared to disturb the peace just yet, he’d have to start asking these questions. Mostly he would have to ask, well, living in a muggle neighborhood and sending Teddy to a muggle nursery was telling, but it wasn’t enough. He needed Malfoy to tell him point-blank that he wasn’t teaching Teddy anything inappropriate. The whole absurdity of everything had kept Harry restrained but Teddy’s father had been a _werewolf._ It was an important part of him that shouldn’t be scorned or even omitted. Fuck, how much had Draco told him about his parents to begin with? Had he even told him anything? Maybe Harry was biased and certain facts about their lives shouldn’t be told to someone this young, but Harry had grown up without any stories about his parents and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Did Malfoy even know any stories?

_No, but that’s my job,_ Harry thought, tensing in his seat. If Malfoy didn’t like it he could take it up with him. 

Harry grimaced, cooling slightly. The issue, the one he’d been dancing around in his head for the last hour of the film, is that confronting Malfoy with all of this seemed dangerously vulnerable. Inching much too closely to a heart-to-heart than Harry wanted with the man. He needed Draco’s permission to do so much that he wanted to do with Teddy, but being forced to consider Draco an authority in this matter still made him squirmy. Malfoy had been more than accommodating, and that was an absolute fact Harry forced himself to swallow. What Harry wouldn’t give to know what was running through his mind about this whole matter. What he wouldn’t give to know what he’d been thinking six years ago when he’d taken Teddy on.

When it was time to say goodbye Harry recognized he’d finally relaxed somewhat, had normalized a bit more of the nonsensical situation he’d found himself in and parsed out a bit more of his feelings. He was prepared to do it all over again next week, and said as much.

Malfoy had nodded to this, hashing out the details for the specific time while Harry put on his trainers. Before Harry could ask if he should bring anything (he _hated_ feeling rude, and felt a bit competitive over the graciousness he’d been shown by a Malfoy) he noticed Teddy hugging the kitchen door, scrunching his face up as he “eavesdropped” on their conversation.

Malfoy followed his gaze. “Yes? Do you want something?”

Teddy shrugged. “He’s coming back again?”

Draco frowned. “ _He_ is right here, Teddy.”

Teddy’s lip twisted, but didn’t seem that offended. He turned to Harry. “You’re coming back again?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. Is that okay with you?”

Scrunching up his nose, Teddy shrugged, then pointedly stared at Malfoy.

“We’ll see you next week, Potter.” Malfoy sighed, opening the door open and ushering him out with new vigor.

“Er-”

“Hurry up before the cat tries to escape.” Sure enough a chirping yowl came from the living room and the quiet padding of paws followed. 

Harry left, ruefully echoing his earlier thought. What he wouldn’t give to understand what Malfoy was thinking.

***

Draco was thinking he’d go spare if he had to listen to Teddy’s rantings for one more minute.

“I just mean,” Teddy gurgled, his muggle toothbrush buzzing away in his mouth and distorting his words, “that’s a whole day! Gone!”

Teddy snapped his fingers as example and squeaked as foamy toothpaste began to drip down his neck. Draco handed him a towel.

Teddy spit. “I’m just saying.”

“Yes, yes, I Know.” Draco replied noncommittal, herding Teddy to bed half-desperately.

Teddy grumbled under his breath but climbed into bed without fuss. The fussing came when Draco got up to leave.

“Just-!” Teddy cried, grabbing at Draco’s shirt hem, “Does he _have_ to come over so much?”

“Teddy, he’s been over _twice._ ”

“No! He’s been over three times! I didn’t forget the first time!” Teddy yelled, slamming his free fist down on the bed.

“Teddy!” Draco admonished, but went down to his knees next to the bed all the same. 

Like Draco knew he would, Teddy’s anger quickly turned to tears. Great heaving childish sobs that choked his words filled his small bedroom and made Draco’s heart clench as it always does. Teddy was one for tantrums, even though he can be very polite, and like all his emotional outbursts Draco just leaned in and held him. Not saying anything, leaving the space open for Teddy to communicate, Draco rubbed his back and let his shirt get wet under Teddy’s cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“He _scared_ me.” Teddy hiccuped, and Draco cringed at the confusion in his voice. A new person in his life was always a bit of an adjustment, where Teddy would get extra sensitive and over react over little things like children do. But when Teddy said something scared him Draco usually took it very seriously. He would figure out exactly why it scared him and establish boundaries and comfort levels and sometimes just banish the thing from Teddy’s life entirely. When a scary dog reduced Teddy to tears when he was four Draco had just picked up Teddy and brought him home. When Teddy had been frightened by a friend’s much-stricter parents Draco had sat down with him and heard him out, just letting Teddy feel like he was being fair, and then let him work out that he would keep going to the friend’s house anyways. He’d always given him a voice, even if he’d not always done what Teddy wanted and Teddy must feel, well, at worst betrayed.

Draco sighed, feeling a stinging in his eyes himself. He’d had Teddy for six years, and for those six years he’d done his absolute best to distance himself from a horrible past and a vindictive present. He’d done everything in his power to create stability and safety for his charge and for himself, rearranging his entire life around the kid crying into his ratty old muggle shirt. Then, after all these years, came a spit in the face to all he’d worked to build.

Resentment rose fast then died just as quickly. Draco was too resigned to hold onto his anger any longer than a moment. Potter had no idea the position Draco was in, had no idea what it felt like to allow someone he’d long considered an enemy access to his child. And Teddy _was_ his child, even if the idea of Teddy treating him like a father made Draco self-conscious. But Potter barging into their lives with more of a claim to the title than Draco had any right to be _hurt_ , more than Potter realized or cared to consider.

But more than that, more than the title of godfather, along with Potter came the threat that Teddy could be taken away from him. 

Teddy coughed, drawing away from his arms to wipe his hands over his eyes. “Alright?” Draco asked wearily, keeping his arms outstretched. 

Teddy nodded, laying his hands in his lap and settling.

“I’m sorry, love,” Draco said helplessly, “but just give him a chance, okay? Please?”

Teddy pouted, but it was a lot more childish and melodramatic than before and made Draco breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Are you tired now?” Draco asked.

Teddy crossed his arms and huffed, but slid down further under the sheets. 

With only a few more minutes and minimal fuss Teddy was tucked in and seconds from passing out. Tantrums take more out of him than anything, and Draco was grateful it happened at bedtime rather than during the day where he had to keep him awake and deal with a cranky Teddy in order to make sure he slept at his bedtime. 

A chirp came from his ankles as he closed the door to Teddy’s room, along with the cool press of a wet nose.

“Oh, dear,” Draco whispered, picking Thomas up upon insistence. “You are such a suck.” Thomas absolutely did not care, rubbing his face against Draco’s the whole trip to the bedroom. 

The issue with Potter is that he has literally no awareness about the state of the wizarding world and how Draco's situation, his entire life, would look when it was splashed across the papers. Whatever Potter’s issues were post war that kept him away from the society pages were not unnoticed, and his glorious return to becoming an auror had been the only thing talked about for _months_. If Draco, who had taken such great pains to remove himself from that world, were to become it’s source of entertainment he couldn’t stand it. There would be no running away. Reporters would hound him for daring to do as he’d done all those years ago. And if Potter were to decide to contest him for custody? There was not a soul alive who would be on Draco’s side. Letting Potter see Teddy in structured visits was _nothing_ than the horrific reality of a public custody battle. No matter how much it tore at him, Draco needed to create a place for Potter in his life. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay let's have fun with this one guys! There's a plot! A whole ass lil plot but mostly it's just... an angsty kid fic romance what can I say. But I'm gonna have fun! I'll update around monthly.
> 
> Also if there is any weird gaps in the writing let me know! ao3 missed like 200 words somewhere and even though I've gone through it I can't...find it...


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